Home Sweet Home
by Evenmoor
Summary: Or, "Five Times Karl Langescheidt Was Glad He Was Stationed At Stalag 13, and One Time He Wished He Was Anywhere Else". Enjoy!
1. First Impressions

**Full Title**: "Home Sweet Home," or "Five Times Karl Langescheidt Was Glad He Was Stationed At Stalag 13, and One Time He Wished He Was Anywhere Else".

**Disclaimers**: I don't own _Hogan's Heroes_ or any of the characters.

**A/N**: German dialogue and terms will be indicated by italics. And, because I am far better with Spanish as a second language than German, any corrections on my grammar and/or spelling would be most appreciated! Thanks to **konarciq** for pointing out a few errors on my part. Cheers!

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><p><strong>Part 1: First Impressions<strong>

Stalag 13 was not exactly like what Corporal Karl Langenscheidt thought it would be. When he'd been told that he was being transferred to the _Luftstalag_ after losing his truck's cargo (though not his life) to an ambush by the Underground, he'd all but died right then and there. It could have been worse – they could have sent him to the Russian front, after all. But Stalag 13 was reputed to be the toughest prison camp in all of Germany, commanded by the Iron Colonel, _Oberst_ Wilhelm Klink, an officer of the old Prussian aristocracy. No prisoner had ever successfully escaped from his stalag, so when Karl arrived, he was expecting to find only the toughest guards, the most ruthless officers and soldiers of the Luftwaffe.

He was doomed.

The first thing he noticed about Stalag 13 was the prisoners cheerfully playing a ball game of rather indeterminate nature – right in front of the _kommandant's_ office. The German guards idled around, barely paying any attention at all. The largest of them, wearing the stripes of an _Oberfeldwebel_, appeared to be snacking on a bar of chocolate, which immediately set Karl's mouth watering. As he climbed out of the personnel truck, Karl heard a voice speaking in English, a language he spoke to some degree – which no doubt played some part in his transfer here, rather than the Russian front.

"Schultz," a man said in a sing-song tone. "You've got a visitor!"

"Tell him to come back later. I'm busy," the sergeant replied in the same language, his mouth full of chocolate.

Karl came around the truck to stand at attention in front of the enormously fat sergeant and, strangely enough, an American officer, a handsome fellow with brown hair, dark eyes, and a keen grin at odds with his surroundings. "_Sergeant Schultz_," Karl said in German, "_I am Corporal Karl Langenscheidt. I have just been transferred here._"

The sergeant instantly hid the chocolate in his coat, suddenly becoming aware that someone was paying attention. The American officer's eyes sparkled. "Don't worry," the American said to Karl in English, "Stick around here a few weeks, and you'll be just as combat-ready as old Schultz here!"

"Jolly joker!" grumbled Schultz, also in English. "You're a prisoner here, Colonel Hogan. It is _my_ job to see to the guards, not yours!"

"You keep saying that! I'll try to remember that for next time!" the strange American prisoner quipped, not at all intimidated. When Schultz shot him a bristling look of annoyance, the colonel relented, but it was clear that he only chose to leave of his own volition, rather than any of Schultz's doing.

Muttering under his breath, Schultz turned his attention to Karl. "_Let me see your papers, Corporal_," he said, switching to German. Karl handed over the documents for the sergeant's perusal. After a few moment's inspection, he handed them back. "_Alles en Ordnung, Obergefreiter._ _Now you will see the kommandant. Follow me, Corporal._"

The fat sergeant led Karl to the _kommandantur._ In the outer office, a lovely blonde-haired lady, a veritable vision of German womanhood, sat at her desk, tapping away on a typewriter. She looked up with a brilliant smile as they walked in. Schultz marched right over to her and popped a kiss on her cheek.

"_Hello, baby_," he smiled, his face flushed with pleasure as he addressed her. "_Is the Big Shot busy?_"

The secretary (what an inadequate label for such a beautiful woman!) peeked around Schultz's bulk and favored Karl with a pearly white smile. "_A new man for him to give his indoctrination lecture?_" she asked the sergeant, her eyes shining with mirth.

At this moment, Karl couldn't care less about the Iron Colonel. There was nowhere on Earth he'd rather be than right here at Stalag 13, drowning in the loveliness of a fair _fr__ä__ulein_.


	2. Small Steps

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone for both their help and reviews! They are very much appreciated.

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><p><strong>Part 2: Small Steps<strong>

Guard duty was boring – it was a simple fact of life. Everyone accepted it. If you weren't standing at attention next to a door or in a tower, you were making endless revolutions around the camp. It was worst when it snowed, because then your fingers and toes froze, and if you were unlucky, then snow fell down your coat, too. There was never enough fuel for the stoves or braziers, either, for either the prisoners or their guards.

It was just this sort of night that Karl Langenscheidt found himself standing guard outside Barracks 2. The frigid wind whipped about him, blowing snow in his face and chilling him to the bone. The barracks was shut up as tightly as possible, though Karl was well aware that the walls were about as solid as a sieve. No one would be making any escape attempts tonight, anyway – a would-be escapee would soon be lost in the snow and freeze to death.

He held no personal hatred for the Allies, unlike many others in the government and military, though he was careful not to show any sort of friendship in front of others. But he knew that Colonel Hogan and the others weren't just good soldiers, they were good men; it was obvious to his eyes, even if it escaped everyone else. Hogan always made sure that all the prisoners got their share of the food, privileges, and Red Cross packages. If only the _Wehrmacht_ had more men like Hogan. Too often it seemed to be every man for himself.

Karl stamped his feet in a meager effort to warm them. No doubt the "Iron Colonel" was hunkering down in his warm bed, dreaming sweet dreams after a nice dinner with good brandy. But for Karl, even simple warmth was a fantastical mirage, the illusion of a delirious mind overcome by the blinding snow. Maybe Klink's pipes would freeze and burst, Karl thought with sudden, uncharacteristic bitterness.

Suddenly, the door to Barracks 2 opened a crack.

"Get in here, Langenscheidt!" a voice snapped authoritatively. Karl didn't hesitate.

Inside, it was cold, but the walls kept out the _worst_ of the wind. Most of the prisoners huddled under their thin blankets, wrapped in whatever protective layers of clothing they had to them. Corporal LeBeau, a small _Franzose _whom some of the guards called the _K__akerlake_, rubbed his hands energetically over the stove, where a pot of coffee warmed enticingly.

Colonel Hogan, the inexplicable American officer, offered a steaming cup to Karl. "LeBeau wanted to know how the coffee tastes before he turns it into coffee cake. I said it was a bit bitter, but he wants a second opinion," he said with brisk illogic.

Karl frowned at the cup. He knew his English wasn't perfect, but he didn't think that they _actually_ put coffee in coffee cake. And if the little Frenchman really wanted someone to taste it, there were thirteen other prisoners in the barracks. Not to mention the tiny little fact that they weren't actually supposed to be cooking at all in the barracks. This meant that this had to be a bribe of some sort. "What is it you want from me in return for this, Colonel Hogan?" he asked hesitantly in English.

"You're the one doing LeBeau the favor," the American replied easily.

After a long moment of thought, Karl smiled. "_Dankesch__ö__n_, Colonel Hogan." Hogan was a fair and intelligent man; there really wasn't much he could get from Karl that he couldn't get from Sergeant Schultz, anyway. One cup of coffee on a freezing night didn't seem like much, and yet, at the same time, it meant the world.

"_Nichts zu danken, _ _Obergefreiter,_" Hogan winked at him.

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><p><strong>AN**: German translations -

_Franzose_: Frenchman

_Kakerlake_: the Cockroach

_Dankesch__ö__n_: Thank you (very much)

_Nichts zu danken, _ _Obergefreiter_: You're welcome, Corporal.


	3. Gay Paris

**Part 3: Gay Paris**

This had to be the best day of Karl Langenscheidt's life. Never would he have dreamed that he would find himself in Paris, enjoying good wine at a charming cafe on a beautiful morning. He could just forget the parade of German soldiers passing back and forth, the furtive glances of hatred from the locals, because today was a good day.

Of course he was well aware that Colonel Hogan was up to something sneaky. "Monkey business," Sergeant Schultz called it. Why else would the crafty American convince the fat sergeant to dress up in the uniform of a general? Not that Karl cared overmuch. It meant that they could circumvent a lot of red tape, for one thing. Few soldiers or checkpoint guards would challenge a general of the Third Reich, not those who wanted to keep their heads, at least. He glanced over his shoulder at the colonel and the little Frenchman, LeBeau, who waited patiently at their own corner table for their contact. LeBeau appeared more anxious than Hogan, but the American officer always displayed a remarkable ability to hide his true feelings in the time that Karl had known him. Remarkable man, Hogan.

They hadn't even been in Paris that long, and Karl was already half drunk and well on his way to being smashed. It wasn't all that surprising, really; one simply couldn't afford the good stuff on a corporal's pay, especially during wartime. But apparently _herr Kommandant_ had given Sergeant Schultz a generous allowance for their mission. And Schultz had immediately decided to put the money to good use at the cafe. After all, a general would only order a bottle of the best!

"_I hope it takes a long while for their man to arrive, Karl_," Schultz intimated to his corporal, clearly enjoying himself just as much as Karl was. "_That way we can stay here longer._"

"_Jawohl, herr General_," Karl replied happily. "_I have never been to Paris before. It is a beautiful city! Thank you for bringing me with you._"

The fat sergeant chortled, his red face beaming. "_Who else would I take with me on a mission with Colonel Hogan? He's up to his monkey business again. You and I both know to keep out and see nothing!_"

"_Ja, ja_," agreed Karl, taking another sip of wine. He knew better than to get involved in anything that Hogan had his fingers in. Bad things tended to happen to nosy or inquisitive Germans at Stalag 13. More than one had disappeared without a trace, or been disgraced in abrupt and extravagant fashion. So, as far as he was concerned, Karl was here to enjoy the wine and make sure Hogan and LeBeau got back to camp in one piece. That was enough for him.

_It is a strange thing_, Karl mused as he swirled the wine in his glass. However much he disliked it, if he hadn't been stationed at Stalag 13, he would never have been able to go to Paris, one of the world's most beautiful and romantic cities. The only thing that could make this day better would be a lovely lady to share a drink with him. Sergeant Schultz, even when dressed up as a general, just wasn't the same! As a pretty young woman walked by their table, Karl sighed appreciatively. For some reason, the French ladies just seemed that much more beautiful than the _Fräuleins_ back home.

"_Not a bad war after all, eh, Karl?_" Schultz grinned.


	4. Desperate Measures

**A/N:** Not exactly the same light tone as the others, but it wasn't always fun and games at Stalag 13.

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><p><strong>Part 4: Desperate Measures<strong>

"Alright, Langenscheidt, what's eating you?" Colonel Hogan asked with a sense of inevitability.

"'Eating me', _herr _Colonel?" Karl asked in confusion. Some English idioms still escaped him, even now. At least he knew what a 'fink' was, unlike the _Kommandant_.

The American grimaced, realizing his mistake. "Something's bothering you," he explained. "What is it?"

Karl glanced from side to side. The only other guard in sight at the moment was Fritz, and the lightfingered _Engländer_ Newkirk was distracting him with some card trick or other while simultaneously relieving him of his watch. "It is a friend of mine, _herr _Colonel," said Karl in a low voice. "I met her at the hotel in Hammelburg yesterday while I was on my twelve hour pass."

"Ah, a _lady _friend," Hogan smiled sympathetically. "As LeBeau would say, '_Cherchez la femme_.' So, what's this girl done that's got you all tied in knots, Langenscheidt?"

Karl shifted his weight uncomfortably. He didn't know exactly how much he could trust Colonel Hogan. After all, they were nominally on opposite sides of the war. "She wanted help with a problem, but I could not do anything," he compromised finally.

Hogan's dark eyes didn't blink as he evaluated the statement. "_Big_ problem or _little _problem?"

"Oh, it is a very big problem," Karl replied, relieved that Hogan wasn't demanding anything specific. "Greta never has small problems, only big ones."

The colonel let out a small chuckle at that statement. "I've known a few girls like that in my time. So, why can't you help her with her problem?"

"It is far too large for me," Karl said after a moment of thought. "She needs something I cannot give her because I do not have it. And it breaks my heart, _herr _Colonel." What she needed was a way out. A way out of Germany, a path to freedom and safety.

Colonel Hogan folded his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowing in consideration. "How much does this girl mean to you, Langenscheidt?" he asked shrewdly.

Karl finally broke down. "_Sie ist meine Schwester_," he breathed, his voice almost inaudible.

The American colonel sighed. "Your sister," Hogan repeated in English. After a moment, he smiled, clapping Karl on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Langenscheidt. I'm sure everything will turn out alright." He turned his attention to where Newkirk was now 'borrowing' Fritz's wallet. "Excuse me, Corporal, I should probably take care of this before Newkirk steals Fritz's underwear, too."

That night, Greta Langenscheidt mysteriously vanished from her hotel room. The Gestapo, who had been investigating her for alleged Underground activities, were never able to discover her whereabouts, though they suspected the notorious Papa Bear had a hand in the fiasco. Major Hochstetter, upset at letting yet another suspected Underground agent slip through his fingers, questioned Karl for several hours, but Karl only told him with complete honesty that he had absolutely no idea where she was and further denied any involvement with her disappearance. Finally, Hochstetter threw up his arms in disgust and washed his hands of the matter. It was completely forgotten when a munitions train exploded shortly thereafter.

But while on his rounds the following morning, Karl found a scrap of paper in the pocket of his coat, with a single word written in his sister's familiar hand:

_Danke_

Karl clasped the paper in his fist and shoved it back into his pocket. He looked through the window of Barracks 2, his throat tight. The Allied prisoners sat around the table, playing cards. Colonel Hogan glanced up and, catching Karl's eyes, winked cheerfully at him.


	5. Saving the Day

**Part 5: Saving the Day**

"_Now, Langenscheidt, you are not to leave this car under any circumstances, is that understood?_" Colonel Klink cast a suspicious gaze up and down the street. "_This place is _crawling _with with thieves and black marketeers. And if they steal my car while I'm with Fräulein Schmidt, you will find yourself on a train to the Russian front so quickly you won't even have time to pack your snowshoes!_"

"_Jawohl, herr Kommandant!_" Karl stammered in reply, saluting the _Oberst _nervously. Klink might have been the biggest fool to reach the rank of colonel, but, for once, he was actually right about the brazen criminal activity that sometimes went on in town.

"_Good! And you are not to disturb us, Langenscheidt, unless you want to spend the next thirty days scrubbing the latrines!_" declared the 'Iron Colonel' officiously. "_Now is the time for love, for romance, not business!_"

Karl suppressed his disgust at the _Kommandant'_s leering eagerness, feeling more pity for the _Fräulein _spending the next few hours in his company. Whatever she was getting out of the relationship had better be worth the indignity she'd endure. Whatever emotions she felt were concealed behind a mask of delight as she opened her door to Klink, leaving Karl alone with the car. He settled for a long wait, pulling a book out of his coat and engrossing himself in the adventures of a little fellow and a dragon.

Half an hour later, raised voices pulled his attention away from his book. Across the street, a pair of soldiers, obviously drunk, were accosting a much smaller woman carrying a covered basket.

"_Come on, what's in the basket_, _Fräulein?_" the first wheedled, laying his hand on her shoulder.

The other laughed coarsely, leering at the unfortunate woman. "_Is it a picnic, Liebling? We could go down by the river and share it with you!_"

As their target twisted away, Karl felt a sudden shock of recognition. This was no helpless _Fräulein_: it was the little Frenchman from Barracks 2, LeBeau, and _definitely _out of uniform. He was wearing a dress and a wig, but it was clearly him. And, while the two soldiers might well be drunk, even they would notice something amiss if they groped too closely. And, in public and daylight, there was little LeBeau could do. Karl had to do _something_.

He hurried across the street towards them, his heart in his throat as he felt utter disbelief at what he was about to do.

"_Greta, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!_" he said, doing his best to sound relieved rather than terrified, and praying desperately that the Frenchman would play along with the ploy.

To Karl's eternal relief, he did. "_Oh, Karl, I'm so glad you're here. I was just on my way to meet you when I ran into these men._" LeBeau's German was passable; Karl could still hear his French accent, but the two drunk soldiers would probably mistake it for Swiss, or not notice it at all. They certainly weren't the brightest of fellows, fortunately.

Karl turned a big, fake smile on the two louts. "_Thank you both for seeing dear Greta safe. Here, have a drink on me_," he said, pulling out the few marks he had on-hand.

The two soldiers were definitely not the types to look a gift horse in the mouth, let alone a free drink. They more than happily took the money and stumbled on, pleased at their good fortune. LeBeau glared at their departing backs, muttering some most likely less than complimentary words in French before offering Karl a sheepish shrug.

"Thank you for rescuing me. I was about to punch them both in the nose," the little Frenchman grimaced, adjusting his headscarf.

Karl's lips twitched nervously. "I will not ask why you are here. It is better that I do not know," he remarked uncomfortably. There was no reason for anyone here to recognize the Fräulein with a basket as a POW from Stalag 13, but it could happen; the Gestapo often appeared without warning.

"Yes, but why are _you_ here?" asked LeBeau curiously.

"I'm the _Kommandant_'s driver. He's just over there, visiting _Fräulein _Schmidt." As he turned to point out the house in question, his heart, which had been racing, just about stopped in its tracks. "_Mein Gott_," he whispered in horror.

"What is it?"

"The car! Black marketeers! They've stolen the _Kommandant_'s car!" he gasped, his life flashing before his eyes. _This could not be happening!_

"Well, that's what you get when you date the sister of a black marketeer," LeBeau observed calmly, utterly unperturbed by Karl's discovery.

"_Nein_, _nein_, you do not understand! He will send me to the Russian front if he discovers that I let his car be stolen!" Karl felt dizzy and was forced to lean against the wrought iron fence in order to remain upright.

LeBeau set a comforting hand on Karl's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll get it back for you," he smiled. "They owe Colonel Hogan a favor or two."

Smoothing his skirts, the little Frenchman turned and crossed the street, walking right up to _Fräulein _Schmidt's front door. It took several moments for Karl to realize what he was going to do.

"What are you doing?" he protested. "The _Kommandant _will recognize you for sure!"

LeBeau smirked confidently. "He hasn't yet. Don't worry!" he said as he rapped on the door. It took only a few moments for _Fräulein _Schmidt to appear.

"_What can I do for you?_" she asked, her forehead creased in confusion.

"The _Obergefreiter _here misplaced the _Kommandant_'s car a few minutes ago. I think your brother might know what happened to it," the little Frenchman remarked conversationally. "I know a Papa Bear who would not be happy that Karl got sent to the Russian Front over this."

She sighed deeply. "I told Friedrich not to do anything foolish. I see I'll have to have another conversation about this with him." _Fräulein _Schmidt offered Karl an apologetic smile. "I am sorry about this, _Obergefreiter_. I will call him at once. At least that will give me a few minutes free of that _Dummkopf_!"

"_Dankeschön_,_ gnädige Frau_!" Karl said fervently, his relief palpable.

Within fifteen minutes, the car reappeared. LeBeau exchanged a few words with the driver in a hurried undertone before the other man simply walked away down the street. Karl was _not _inclined to pursue him. The little Frenchman handed over the keys with a smile.

"Here you are. Didn't I tell you?" he grinned. "Say, you think you could give me a ride back to camp?"


	6. Anywhere But Here

**A/N:** This is the final installment to the story. I'd like to thank all of my readers for their support and help - I loved hearing from you. I may well decide to revisit Karl and his travails with Hogan and the Heroes at some point in the future! But now for one time Langenscheidt wished he were _anywhere _but at Stalag 13!

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><p><strong>Part 6: Anywhere But Here<strong>

"Well, 'ello, 'ello, what've we got 'ere?" the _Engländer_ Newkirk said, looking up from his laundry. Karl turned around to see where he was staring. A staff car had just driven into camp, pulling right up to the _Kommandantur_. A soldier hopped out to open the door for the passengers: a stiff-looking _Wehrmact _general and a beautiful woman in a mink coat. A very familiar beautiful woman in a mink coat.

His blood ran cold as he recognized the White Russian, Marya, breezing into the _Kommandant_'s office on the arm of yet another general.

"Blimey, not that bird again!" Newkirk groaned, coming up to stand next to Karl. "She's nearly gotten us all killed half a dozen times or more! I'd best tell the Guv'nor." Clapping a hand on Karl's shoulder, he headed off, post-haste, to Barracks 2. Karl swallowed nervously as he continued on his rounds of the camp - the best thing he could do was what he always did when Marya showed up: hide. The last time she appeared, Karl nearly got blown up when a rocket (_a rocket!_) went off inside the recreation hall.

A few minutes later, Sergeant Schultz caught up to him, his normally florid face even more crimson than usual. "_Did you see her, Karl? The White Russian, Marya, she is here, in the camp!_"

"_Ja, I saw her, Sergeant. Who was the general with her?_" Like Karl, Schultz had a keen sense of self preservation, which made them kindred spirits in Stalag 13, where ordinary days had a habit of turning on their heads without warning.

"_That was very important person," _Schultz said bombastically. "_General Schneider of the Fürher's staff! The Kommandant will have the Cockroach cook a delicious dinner tonight, and Marya has invited Colonel Hogan so the general can meet an Allied officer._"

"_That woman, she is nothing but trouble_," observed Karl, darkly pensive. He didn't know why Marya was there, and, quite frankly, he was afraid to ask.

The sergeant puffed his cheeks. "_Where she is concerned, it is better to know _nothing _and to do exactly as she says_," he agreed.

Karl saw nothing of the visitors for the rest of the night. He did see Colonel Hogan on his way to dinner; the American, wearing his dress uniform, looked as if he were suffering from a particularly vicious migraine. Karl's stomach rumbled dangerously as the delicious aromas of LeBeau's gourmet cooking wafted across the camp. His own meal had been sadly spartan and far too meager to be satisfying.

When he went to bed that night, he tossed and turned uncomfortably for a long while. He caught faint snatches of music coming from the _Kommandant_'s quarters; it seemed that Marya and the general were 'burning the midnight oil,' as the Americans would say. When Karl finally did get to sleep, he dreamed that the prisoners had all transformed into cats, which he had to catch by himself while the other guards stood around and stared at him. He awoke dazed and confused and feeling not at all rested.

After roll call, Sergeant Schultz pulled Karl aside. "_The Kommandant wants to see you. He wants you for a _special duty_!_" the fat sergeant chuckled, not noticing the blood drain out of Karl's face.

He entered the _Kommandantur _in trepidation. Colonel Klink was even more nervous than usual, likely due to the looming presence of General Schneider at his window. Karl swallowed, trying his best to conceal his utter terror as he saluted his superior officers.

"_Langenscheidt, General Schneider's driver has taken ill, so you will take him and Marya wherever they need to go while they're in the area. You will do whatever they ask without question, as befits a soldier of the Third Reich_," the Iron Colonel ordered pompously, glancing at the general to see his approval. General Schneider opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden, dramatic entrance of Marya forestalled any reply.

"_Putzi_, _darling, please tell me you have a driver! I could not _bear _to wait here in this _dreadful _prison camp_," she said in her extravagant way, draping herself across the general.

He stiffly attempted to disentangle himself from her arms. "_This obergefreiter will be our driver, Marya. You need not embarrass yourself in such a way_," he informed her rigidly.

She shrugged theatrically. "_What can I say? I'm afraid of all these men. You can never know what they're thinking._"

As the general's lips twisted in annoyance, Marya turned her ice-blue eyes on Karl. "_You there, you'll do._" She stared at him as if she were selecting a piece of meat at a butcher's shop. He almost shivered under her gaze.

Karl prayed that he had time to write his will before he had to drive anywhere.


End file.
